


We Fed Machines and then We Prayed

by TastesLikeSTFU



Series: Boys with Guns [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - School Shooters, Angst, Bullying, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, School Shootings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastesLikeSTFU/pseuds/TastesLikeSTFU
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five months after the deadly shooting at Beacon Hills high, the friends and family of the dead gather to watch something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Fed Machines and then We Prayed

**Author's Note:**

> I got a few people asking me to write about Melissa and Sheriff Stilinski watching the videos Scott and Stiles recorded. I'd already been planning it, but the support of those readers helped spur me on.
> 
> I took the presentation of names as a signal of changing point of view from a movie I linked in the previous fic called _Elephant_.  
>  I also took inspiration from pieces of Brooks Brown's book _No Easy Answers_ , which was linked in the previous fic as well.
> 
> This requires reading the first part _Feed The Color To The Kids_ , otherwise it might not make much sense.
> 
> (Also, my headcanon is that the Sheriff's first name is John.)

** September 2014 **  
_Allison_

Allison sits cross-legged on her bed, drawing in a large artist's notebook with charcoal. Across from her, on her desk, sits a framed photo of her and Lydia at the mall in sophomore year. In the photo, she and Lydia have their arms around one another's shoulders, grinning. Allison remembers that it had been Jackson who had taken the picture, scoffing when handed the camera but smiling a little at the end, in spite of himself.

Allison makes a frustrated sound, sketching the line of Lydia's smile.  
Objectively, the drawing looks strikingly realistic- a very good imitation of the photo in front of her. But, with another frustrated noise, she presses down against the page hard enough to break the tip of her charcoal pencil and dent the paper. She rips the page from the notebook, crumples it, throws it at the waste basket in the corner, and misses.  
While the drawing had been high quality, decent work, it didn't capture the life in her friend. Hell, the photo barely does Lydia justice. Neither a drawing, nor a photograph can properly illustrate the wry shine in her eyes, the intelligence and sharp wit hidden behind makeup and carefully planned outfits. Allison blames the eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. She can't see Lydia's eyes gazing at her across the lunchroom table anymore because Lydia died. Can't watch the way her mouth moves when she smiles or frowns. Can't ask her the answer for number three on the chem homework and expect the longest explanation of what she got.

These past few months have been one deficit after another. It has only been four months since the Beacon Hills school shooting, and yet so much has happened in such a short stretch of time.  
Sheriff Stilinski stepped down as sheriff a few days after Stiles's funeral, advocating for Deputy Parrish to win county elections for the position. Crosses for the victims were erected on school grounds and they still stand, grim reminders of community loss. Crosses for Scott and Stiles were erected as well, and stand separately from those of the victims. Each of the crosses bears a school photo and name. Media flooded to the town, calling it the next Columbine. Reporters clamored for interviews not only from Allison, but Mr. Stilinski, Melissa, many classmates, teachers, and even people so distant from the tragedy that all they could give was their opinion.

A video taken by a student trapped in the school was posted on YouTube. Nothing but a pixelated cell phone video, it would have been truly unremarkable if not for the muffled gunshots in the background and the screams.  
It is three minutes and 15 seconds long, and looks like it takes place in the computer lab down the hall from the library. Allison has watched it one too many times for it to be anything but bordering on sad. The video begins from under a table, panning around and taking stock of other kids under tables. The teens whisper to one another but are silent for the most part. The kid taking the video whispers, "Who do you think it is?"

Someone under a table to the left replies, "Probably Matt Daehler. Guy's a fucking nut."

A few kids laugh uncomfortably, and then fall silent. The phone moves from under the table, aimed at the door. Other students run past the door and the phone ducks under each time. This continues for almost another minute and a half before a figure clothed entirely in black charges in, raises a gun and fires. Despite the fairly poor quality of the video, Stiles's face is very clear. He looks pale, and his body tenses to take the kickback of the rifle. (Allison has never seen him so serious before). The report is deafening, and the phone jerks and falls to the floor, screams erupting from the other students. The video ends abruptly, pointing at the ceiling.  
As of today, the video has been shown on innumerable television news shows, all across the globe. On YouTube, it has more than 6,000,000 views.

Allison feels like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like there's still more that can be milked from the tragedy. She just wants it to end.  


* * *

_Melissa_  

She works day shifts now. Even though it's much too late for it to help anyone but the geriatric patients that give her sweet, forgetful smiles. Working day shifts helps her get her mind off of everything. It keeps Melissa from being too idle. Because if she stands still long enough without an IV to put in or someone to talk to, she starts thinking about Scott. Words cannot describe how much she misses her baby boy.

She always keeps her phone on silent during her shift, so when she gets off at four in the afternoon, she's surprised to find a missed call and voicemail from John Stilinski. The voicemail itself is simple enough- just John asking to speak with Melissa as soon as she's available.  
She hasn't spoken to John since the boys' funerals. It was hard to talk in a general sense, much less to talk about anything aside from the elephant in the room- the losses they've both suffered. So they just didn't. They let silence speak for them, to say the words they couldn't quite bring themselves to give life. They parted ways just as silently- with a tight hug for Melissa, and a kiss to the cheek for John.  
She calls him immediately.

" _Stilinski._ "

"John."

" _Melissa._ "

There is a beat before John says, " _There's something I need to tell you._ "

"Okay."

" _When... when the department searched Stiles's jeep that day, they found a video camera. I couldn't watch it when it was evidence because Stiles was involved, but I know that, what's on that camera, it's- it's important. They're going to be showing the videos at the station sometime, possibly next month- for the public. I wanted to let you know._ "

"Are you going to go and watch them?"

" _Even if it kills me._ "

Melissa nods to herself, "Do you want to go together?"

" _I'd like that._ "

She nods again, and then sighs.  


* * *

_Isaac_

Graduation is going to suck this year. Isaac knows it. It's going to be emptier, despite the graduating class being about 300 to 400 other kids. They'll be missing teachers and students, and their absences will be gaping. It will be lonely.  
Isaac dreads graduation, even as he fills out the forms for a cap and gown in his size, collects a pre-packaged tassel, and thanks the man at the booth. He pockets the tassel and goes to grab his lunch. 

Once upon a time, Isaac could have blended in with the lockers, that's how much no one ever noticed him. But now, they notice him, and avoid him like the plague. Somehow, it's worse than not being seen at all. The bullies won't even touch him.  
He stands in the middle of the cafeteria, people streaming around him like a large rock in a shallow creek. Isaac looks around, and sees Allison Argent, sitting all alone at a table in the very far corner. He goes and sits across from her. She looks up from her notebook and smiles. He smiles back. They say nothing, but are both grateful for the presence of the other.

Soon, eating lunch with Allison becomes something of a routine. Day in and day out, Isaac gets his lunch, sits at the corner table, in the chair across from Allison, and says nothing.  
It's become a comfort, at least for him.

The first time either one of them breaks their silent streak, it's Allison, and it's been two and a half weeks since he first took a seat at the table.

She simply says, "Thank you."

He simply replies, "No problem."

That sparks conversation between them, and their friendship grows fast after that. Isaac comes to sit and talk with Allison even before getting his lunch. They talk from the very moment they sit at their table, and often times until after the bell rings for the end of the lunch period. They talk around the subject of Scott and Stiles carefully. Like when Allison says, "I used to go to the drive-in theater all the time!", Isaac knows she means that she always used to go to the drive-in theater _with Scott._ That when she says, "I rocked at Call of Duty.", she means that she used to beat Scott and Stiles's high scores easily.  
Isaac talks around them too, when need be. (He's not as good at it as Allison is.) He wasn't super close with them, but he was close enough to have memories with them.

Today, Allison talks about making 'dirt and worms' with her dad when she was little, and scaring her mother by greeting her at the door with Oreo cookie crumbs all over her face, exclaiming, "Mommy look! Daddy let me eat dirt today!"

Isaac laughs, and then laughs even harder when a memory comes to mind, unbidden, of when he, Scott, and Stiles had first started on the lacrosse team. It was a practice session that started with Stiles slipping in the mud and bringing all three of them down, face first to the ground, and ended with them scrubbing mud from awkward places in the locker room showers.  
He begins, "Oh, god, that reminds me of this time at lacrosse practice. Stiles-." And then stops, realizing his words. A lump forms in his throat and Isaac can't tell if it's because he's embarrassed, or because he's sad.

Allison curls her lips in, and squashes them back and forth like she's just applied chapstick.  
"We should talk about them." She says quietly, "We never talk about them."

"How?"

"Finish your story."

Isaac finishes what he started, and Allison laughs harder than she has the entire time they've talked. Somehow, Isaac thinks it'll be okay. Not now, of course. But someday.  


* * *

** October 2014 **  
_John_

The room in the back of the police station is crowded, hot, and loud. The room is crammed and it strikes John just how many people these two boys have affected. It makes his chest ache.  
At his side, Melissa clutches his arm. He knows how she feels- so anxious. Will anyone notice them sneaking in? Will anyone get hostile? Regardless of the police station setting?  
He looks around and sees too many familiar faces. The Boyds sit in the middle of the crowd, the Whittemores at the very front, Mrs. Reyes to the back on the left side. He even sees Laura Hale sitting tall in the second to last row.

At first glance, it looks like there are no seats left. But then he sees a delicate hand wave at them from the back row, Allison Argent gesturing to two seats she's saved. Beside her is Isaac Lahey, and her parents. John nods at them as he and Melissa sit. Chris nods back and Victoria gives him a genuine smile.  
Deputy Parrish approaches the front of the room, face blue in the light of the ceiling mounted projector's default screen.

"Good evening everyone. Thank you for being here. Before we begin, I want to outline some rules we have for tonight. First, no recording devices. Second, all phones must be turned off or put on silent. And third, if you need to leave the room for any reason, do not hesitate to do so. We'll give you a moment to turn off your phones."  
Soon, the room goes dark, and the video starts.

Melissa cries a lot- she cries when Scott acknowledges her innocence, when Scott gets beaten up- and John lets her bury her face in his shoulder when she needs to, curling an arm around her. It's difficult to watch this, to watch his son, the quirky, intelligent, and admittedly awkward kid, turn into an angry, unhappy young man. It's not easy to see those shining eyes he'd known for 17 years turn dark and hard.  
Allison gets up and walks quickly from the room when Scott tells her he loves her. Isaac waits for a moment before following after her.

John remembers when Stiles came home, fuming about his car. He'd made promises to get it fixed up, repainted and good as new. But Stiles just stormed past him, and up the stairs, throwing a firm, "It's fine. Not like it matters" over his shoulder.  
Every time it comes back to him, he can't help but get mad at himself. If he'd gone up there and talked to his son, asked him what he meant, then maybe he could have subverted this whole thing.  
The Argents sit stiffly when they watch their house get broken into, their possessions stolen. John can't imagine how they feel about this. He knows he doesn't blame them for Scott and Stiles getting their hands on the guns. It had taken a lot of thinking and anger for John to realize that the Argents knew about as much as he did about the boys' plan.

Melissa trembles and clenches her hands into fists against her thighs when it comes to Scott's phone call. He knows she's reliving the moment in her mind, pointing out all the signs she missed the first time around. John knows that feeling all too well.  
That day, he got off his double shift at six o'clock in the morning, and he'd crashed into bed, fully dressed and oblivious to anything until Stiles came in just before eight.

"Dad. Dad, wake up. I gotta tell you something." He'd said.

"Whassit, Stiles?"

"I want you to know that I love you."

"M'kay."

"No, dad, this is important. C'mon, wake up."

John hoisted himself up onto an elbow and looked at Stiles blearily, "I'm up."  
Stiles pulled him into a tight hug, angles awkward with Stiles standing and John half laying on the bed.

"I love you, dad."

"I love you too, Stiles. What's gotten into you?" He replied, patting his son solidly on the back.

"Nothing. I just thought you deserved to hear it. I- I haven't said it in a while and I wanted to make sure you got to hear it today," Stiles released him, "Scott and I are gonna get ready and head out pretty soon. Go back to sleep."  
John hadn't thought anything about it, just let his head hit the pillow, and slept until someone came pounding on his door, with a grim expression and news he'd never wanted to hear.

They cut the video after Scott and Stiles leave the jeep, Deputy Parrish explaining that it was a little over five minutes of empty high school parking lot, seven more minutes of increasingly heavy rain, and six minutes of vaguely human shaped blobs zooming past, outside the vehicle, the view disrupted by the pouring rain. He thanks them for coming, again, and asks them to drive safely. 

Laura Hale stops John and Melissa before they can leave, and she gives both of them a hug only a Hale can give.  
"I'm sorry." She says.

"Me too." He says.

Outside the police station, the air is chilly after the room full of people. The crowd breaks and everyone goes their separate ways.  
John turns to find the Argents, to talk with them, when Mr. Whittemore walks briskly up to him and punches him in the mouth, "You son of a bitch!"

John stumbles back a step or two, surprised by the sudden impact, and presses fingers to an aching, split lip. He quickly straightens, and reaches out to fist a hand in Mr. Whittemore's white button up shirt.  
People stop, turning from their paths to their cars to watch with uncertainty. Laura Hale makes to run over but Chris Argent beats her to it, coming between the two men.

"Hey!" Chris presses his hands to John and Mr. Whittemore's chests, pushing.

"It's your fault my son is dead! " 

"I'd like to disagree with you, there. It's your son's own fault he's dead." John shoots back.

"You-!" Mr. Whittemore charges again, but is stopped by Chris.

"What are you gonna do? Are you gonna hit me again? It's still not going to solve anything."

"It's your fault. If you had kept your fucking kid in check-." 

"If I'd kept _my_  fucking kid in check? _My_  kid? Jackson was part of Stiles's problems! He was a bully. Simple as that. And you refused to do anything about his behavior! Even after the five or six times he was reported to the school."

"You have no idea what it's like! Jackson was murdered by your asshole brat!" 

"You think I don't know what it's like? Stiles _killed himself_  because of his problems at school! He _killed other people!_ Were you even paying attention to what we just watched? You didn't see Jackson beating Scott to a pulp? I don't know how many times I came home to find Stiles covered in bruises, looking so unhappy with his life, and hear him tell me that Jackson Whittemore and his friends thought it would be fun to steal his stuff, play keep away with it, and then beat him up because he couldn't get it back. So don't you _dare_  tell me what I don't know. _You_  don't know.  _You. Don't. Know. Shit._ " John presses a knuckle against his lip and wipes away the blood that had begun to seep from the split skin.

Melissa grabs his wrist and starts pulling him toward her car, "Come on." She turns and nods as she walks away, "Thank you, Chris."

"Any time."

John can hear Chris asking Victoria to take Allison and Isaac home. He gets in Melissa's car, buckles his seat belt, and leans his elbow on the door, covering his eyes with his hand.  
Melissa gets in, starts the car, and pulls out of the parking lot. Things between them are silent. John can't help but think that, without Stiles, a lot of things are going to be silent from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basing the feelings of the characters in this aftermath on my own personal experience with grief and losing a loved one.
> 
> Also, the scene where Isaac fills out paperwork for his cap and gown model how things went in my high school. We filled out paperwork to purchase our caps and gowns, and then we got this little ziplock baggie with a free tassel in it. The whole thing was very surreal at the time.
> 
>  
> 
> _Additionally, if you should meet the actors, writers, creator, or anyone involved with the show/book/movie this fanfiction is about, please do not inform them, encourage them to read, or make them read this unless you have explained to me in detail why you want to expose them to my writing and have received my explicit permission to do so._


End file.
